Hands wave at a blue sk)r. It's a daz- zling, snow-bright landscape. The camera tracks around the cliff face. Then a sud- den explosion of sound tells you that the helicopter has arrived. There is fran- tic shouting, the spilling of ropes, the straining of winches, that obligatory moment when someone almost makes a mistake-but only almost-until finally a lovely girl flops into a strong man's arms in the womblike hold of the copter. . . . And in the warm, dark cinema you're 'h : "'J.,. .. , l'. "'" " : Q' J , ..,"!' ',* \ ,,-,":;.,. , .. .2:"" - .'1>-' ' relieved, but not so relieved. You knew that only people who were unimportant or evil would fall from cliffs. Not the lead actors. Not, for example, the main pro- tagonist in your life these fifteen years, who is hardly evil, despite a tiff or two. What kind of script would that make? What films can only hint at is the passage of time, the increasing cold, the realization of one's own utter stupidity. 5=' That wonderful mountain landscape lost :' all its appeal. After an hour or so, the deep silence was broken by an even scarier , crack. As it turned some unimaginable corner, a ray of sunshine was warming ' the top of the overhanging cliff A lump . 9 of stone bounced at our feet to rIcochet 8 off into the ravine. We did not hear it - . I õ hIt the bottom. : My wife cried, ':Aiuto/" Then we were 'both screaming for help-the only time in my life I have done so. And on this I think the movies have got it about right: the yells, the excitement, the desperation. Two tiny figures far across the valley turned and saw us. Faintly, we picked 0:: h d "A / " " W: . r ""' x T tf up t e wor ..aspettate. - alt. v ve waited. We wondered if we would be obliged to pay for whatever help came. We realized that it was worth any price. More stones fell. We shivered as the light began to go. We did all the Reader's Di- gest true-story things: we thought of our children, reminisced, massaged each oth- er,s hands. Until, through the twilight, un- believably sweet, there it was: the faintest drone, a helicopter. Suddenly, we were hugging like newlyweds. They had known at once where to find ..>!.w- ?. . .:>....,. r., -;'1' '"'-. f. ...... } tf 4 \ .",,- . .... :; ')0<1. r,i" . " 11 o)kt-" us, the rescuers told us, because everybody died here. They'd brought body bags. Un- able to winch us up, because of the over- hang, they climbed down from above with ropes and pitons. Despite the ab- sence of scarlet suits and white beards, I have never seen two more convincing Santa Clauses, or received a more wel- come gift. That evening, we made toasts; the next day I was shaking so much I couldn't type. But for someone else it would not be a merry Christmas. Just as the holiday began, I read in the local paper, "MOUN- TAIN CATASTROPHE: FATHER OF THREE FAILS TO HIS DEATH." The father of three had followed in our tracks, only days later, our rescuers told us when we phoned, and had fallen from that very ledge. They had winched him out at 3 A.M. He was the same age I was at the time: forty-one. I felt, strangely; that I had been saved by substitution. Which is the basis of the Jesus story, after all. For Christmas, we bought ourselves a mobile phone and cancelled the family skiing holida rIM PARKS 107 at the temples, was pulled back like a ballerinàs. "You should have heard him in the " L . . d " H ' alr d car, aXllU SaJ.. e s ea y memo- rized all of Europe." " I ' " R h . . d " I ' t s not a game, 0 In SaJ.. m having a competition with a boy at school. We're competing to memorize all the capitals. I'm going to beat him" Miranda nodded. "O.K. What's the capital of India?" "That's no good." He marched away, his arms swinging like a toy soldier's. Then he marched back to Laxmi's cousin and tugged at a pocket of her overcoat. ' sk me a hard one." " s al " h . d eneg , s e SaJ. . "Dakar!" Rohin exclaimed trium- phantly, and began running in larger and larger circles. Eventually he ran into the kitchen Miranda could hear him opening and closing the fridge. "Rohin, don't touch without asking," Laxmi's cousin called out wearil She managed a smile for Miranda. "Don't worry, he'll fall asleep in a few hours. And thanks for watching him." Miranda fastened the chain on the door. Rohin was in the living room now, at the dining table, kneeling on one of the director's chairs. He unzipped his knap- sack, pushed Mirandàs basket of mani- cure supplies to one side of the table, and spread his crayons over the surface. Miranda stood over his shoulder. She watched as he gripped a blue crayon and drew the outline of an airplane. "It's lovely," she said. When he didn't reply, she went to the kitchen to pour herself more coffee. "Some for me, please," Rohin called out. She returned to the living room. " s h "\" ome w at!' "Some coffee. There's enough in the I " pot. saw. "V , .c.cc. " .1 ou re too young lor cOllee. Rohin leaned over the sketch pad, so that his tiny chest and shoulders al- most touched it, his head tilted to one side. "The stewardess let me have cof- fee," he said. "She made it with milk and lots of sugar." He straightened, revealing a woman's face beside the plane, with long wavy hair and eyes like asterisks. "Her hair was more shiny," he decided, adding, "My father I " met a pretty woman on a pane, too. He looked at Miranda. His face dark- ened as he watched her drink. "Can't